Rushed: A Second Chance Sports Romance (27 page)

“Maybe, but I bet you haven't been there yet, and it does give you one hell of a view from up there," he commented with a laugh. "Come on, it's not going to be that bad. And it'll keep you out of the house for a while."

I thought about it, then nodded. "Fine. Go on, American man. Show me around your city."

Tomasso grinned his little twisted, cocky grin that sent a thrill down my neck while at the same time irked me, and led me to his car. I climbed in, buckling my seat belt. "By the way, what is it with your family and Italian cars?"

“That’s all we drive,” Tomasso said. “Only the best. What do you have back home?"

I chuckled and looked out at the weather. "A TAC, actually."

"A what? Seriously? I would have taken you for a Porsche or Lambo girl," Tomasso said. "Lots of power, lots of curves."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks at his compliment and glanced over at him to see if he was making fun of me. His eyes were on the road, and his face seemed honest and open, which made the heat in my cheeks go up even more. “Nice try. But like you, my family likes to stick to cars in our heritage. TAC is a Brazilian company, not a subsidiary of someone else. They only make a single model, and it looks a lot like a Jeep. There are lots of roads outside Porto Alegre that make four-wheel drive and high clearance a necessity, so I drive that. I've gotten out of ruts and mud holes that would have gotten a Ferrari or BMW stuck to the rims."

Tomasso smirked and looked over. "You know, you continue to surprise me. I'd never have pegged you as a person who goes for practicality."

“Says the man who wears a thousand-dollar suit to do pickups," I noted, then shook my head. “I’m sorry. I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just saying that there’s more to me than meets the eye.”

"That goes both ways," Tomasso said softly, as if I'd touched a nerve. He found a parking spot and shut off the engine. "Shall we?"

Walking through the park that surrounded the Space Needle, I was taken with the prettiness of the day. As opposed to the previous day's gloom, the sky was clear, and the warmth of the sun felt like a taste of home. "This is nice," I said, stopping and facing the sun. "There are days, back home, when I use to do this over and over."

"When I first got to Alabama, I spent so much time outside that I turned a dark tan," Tomasso said. He sighed and looked up at the Needle. "There were a few years there when I could have stayed that nut brown and bummed my way around the South. I'm sure Dad would have cut me an allowance until I made something of myself."

"Why didn't you?" I asked, curious. "You just . . . you still seem to not be fully committed . . ."

He shook his head. "I am. I was looking for something when I went down South, and to be honest, I'm still kind of looking. But I learned that I didn't have to leave Seattle to find it and that my family is an important part of my life. To not have my family . . . that would be nearly as hard as not finding what I'm looking for."

I tilted my head, curious. "And what are you looking for?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. “The same thing we're all looking for, I guess. Dozens of grandchildren, full control of any business I set my sights on, and for all my enemies to die in highly unlikely accidents that can’t be connected to me. What about you?"

"About the same," I said with a laugh. I stepped closer for some reason, and he turned to me. Reaching out, he took my hand.

"Come on. Let's check out the view." During the wait in line for the elevator, we kept our conversation going, like two new acquaintances learning about each other. There was a pleasant tension building between us, unlike the hostility that we started with. "So why did you go to Brown? I mean, I know your father wanted some of his family to be internationally educated, but Brown's Ivy League, and you don't strike me as too pleased with being up here."

"Actually, Brown is what caused a lot of it," I admitted. "Before that, I thought that I'd love it in America all the time. Instead, I found Rhode Island dreary and cold far too often, and the students were too whiny and spoiled for my liking. I'm sorry, but listening to trust fund girls complain about the unfairness of life when I came from a city that only has sewer systems in about eighty percent of the houses and air quality that is worse than everywhere in Brazil except Sao Paulo . . . they have nothing to complain about."

Tomasso smiled at my rant and reached over again to give my hand a squeeze. "I knew there was a reason I liked talking to you. Come on. We're getting in the next car."

The elevator was busy but not packed, and I could feel the strangely comfortable heat of Tomasso's presence close to me as we rode the elevator up. He let go of my hand to rest his fingers on my back—not too low, still above my waist—and I nudged in closer to him as a grandmother suddenly sneezed. "It's been years since I've been up this thing," Tomasso whispered. "I hope we've got a good view of Rainier."

Even I had to admire the rugged natural beauty of the Cascade mountains. "It's been a long time since I went to actual mountains," I said, taking his hand again. For some reason, the simple gesture was what both of us wanted, like we were quickly becoming something more than just acquaintances. "That would be fun to do some time."

"It would,” he said. "I'd just need someone to go with. Camping alone is boring and dangerous."

He let go of my hand and brought his hands to my waist again. Turning to him, I could see in his eyes what he wanted, and I felt myself being drawn closer, so close as I felt my desire build.

"No," I said softly, pushing away. "I'm sorry, but we can’t. That can never happen."

He stopped, then swallowed his words and looked out the window. "Apologies."

He stayed next to me while I looked out the window, trying to find words to say, to explain why, and failing. We took the elevator down in silence, and back on the ground, he kept a respectful but watchful distance from me.

"Tomasso," I said, stepping closer so that I didn't have to yell, “Say something.”

He blinked and shook his head. "Not much to say. I thought you were interested—you weren't. My mistake. I’ll stick to my job . . . what I should’ve been doing anyway.”

I shook my head, frustrated. "It's not that. Of course I’m flattered by your attention. But . . . can we just talk in private? I feel like I’m in a stupid movie, standing here talking with you about this while tourists walk by!"

He looked around and pointed. "The fountain. About as private as it’s going to get around here, and at least we can sit."

We walked the distance to the fountain, and I spent the entire time trying to put what I wanted to say into English. It was difficult—there’s a difference between talking business and talking emotion in a foreign language. We found a bench near the fountain, and I sat down, Tomasso next to me. "Tomasso, I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . you said it yourself—you need your family. And as crazy as mine is, as fucked up as Porto Alegre is, that's where my family is. You know that we can't—my father wants an alliance with your family, but you aren't Brazilian. He’s proud of the heritage we have, and, well . . .”

"
Norte Americanos
need not apply?" he asked with a harsh chuckle. "I've heard something like that before. Different word, same sentiment. I know what you mean. Another time, another place sort of thing. Just . . . never mind. Come on. We should get back before my father wonders what's going on."

The ride back was quiet, and after making sure I was comfortable in my room, Tomasso left. I could hear heavy hip-hop music start a few minutes later from down the hall in the gym, and I listened for a bit as he worked off his frustration.

What I didn't tell him was that part of the reason I pushed him away was because of my own personal history. My time at Brown hadn't been unpleasant for the most part. Sure, the weather hadn't been like Brazil, but my first winter had been memorable and quite picturesque. I'd even gone skiing, even though I was terrible at it.

That all changed during my sophomore year when I met Travis, who'd shattered my trust in love and in Americans in general. Heartbroken, I told my father, which just catalyzed his distrust even more
.
For me, since then, I'd never let myself get serious with anyone. And certainly not with an American. Men were for rubbing an itch that needed rubbed, and nothing more. I didn't need them for anything else.

But Tomasso was handsome and driven in a way that I hadn't seen in a man my age before. He'd also been through his time of indecision, and while he was hiding something from me, it wasn't something I thought was anything more than what we all hide from people we don't know that well.

I flopped down on my bed, frustrated. The way he smirked, like he was God's gift to women, the way his strong hand felt in mine when he reached out, and the twinkle in his eye when he looked at me, I could feel his desire as he pulled me closer . . .

I didn't realize that I was stroking my stomach with my fingers until the warmth had already spread up to my breasts and down between my legs. It’d been a long time, and I smiled as I let my fantasy play out in my head. After all, there was nothing wrong with a little fantasy, and my body needed some sort of way to release the stress that I felt within me.

My right hand came up, cupping my breast and kneading the soft flesh through my bra, which was beginning to chafe in a maddeningly pleasant way. The satin was rubbing against my nipples, while at the same time, I wanted more than the pleasure a mere fabric could provide.

Sitting up, I shrugged off my blouse and slid my skirt down my legs, leaving me in just my bra and panties, the cool air conditioning causing goosebumps to break out over my skin. Stroking the tops of my breasts and thighs with my fingers, I smiled, lying back again.

Bringing my right hand closer to the smooth fabric of my panties, I shivered as my fingers rubbed in small circles, finding the edges of my mound and sending little ripples of warm tension up and down my legs. Oh, it had been so long. With getting ready for my trip to America and being caught up in my work, even playing with a man had become too much time, and today with Tomasso was really my first chance to have some down time in weeks. Teasing the outer edges of my lips, I sighed softly, seeing Tomasso in my mind's eye. His muscles rippled as his fingers rubbed, and the smirk on his face was both cocky and tender at the same time. His lips were sensuous and powerful as he brought them to my breast, licking and sucking at my nipple until I was moaning, my eyes fluttering closed. "
Mmm . . . so delicious."

"Please . . .” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "Don't hurt me."

"Never," he promised, his fingers slipping inside my panties to rest on the hot flesh of my pussy. His finger slipped between my lips, stroking up and down, gathering my moisture before rubbing, feather light, over my clit.

My hips surged, and I couldn't believe how amazing it felt. I wanted more, and I reached for him but couldn’t quite reach him.

I looked into his beautiful hazel eyes and gave my trust to this man, whose fingers and lips feasted on my flesh, stroking and touching until I was nearly sobbing in pleasure. I was begging, needing him to push me over the edge, and he took his lips from my nipple to look me in the eye. "This is mine."

He stroked his fingers up one more time, and I felt my orgasm crash over me, my thighs clenching around the fingers that were stroking me.
"Yes, yours," I whispered, blinking as my fantasy slowly started to fade away, leaving me shaken.

What the hell was I thinking? Playing around with Tomasso? No way in hell. First, I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t the relationship type. That normally meant little to me—there was nothing wrong with mutual play, in my opinion, but I wasn't sure about myself. He was the sort of man that I wanted to have in my life. He was untouchable and something that I could never let myself indulge in. If I did, I'd too quickly give away my heart, and that was something I couldn't risk breaking again. Finally, since Travis,
I
was the one in charge again. Men fell to their knees to worship at my feet and pledged themselves to me, not the other way around. How could my fantasy have me so quickly pledging myself to him?

Sighing, I wiped at my eyes, feeling a strange tear trickling down my cheek. Pissed off at myself, I sat up and yanked off my soaked panties and bra, storming over to my suitcase and pulling out some fresh underwear. I looked at the casual clothes that I'd packed and pulled out a t-shirt, pulling it on before deciding against the pants I'd packed. Looking around, I saw the shorts that Tomasso had given me the day before. I felt a sense of warm comfort come with pulling them on, and I was startled when a knock came at my door.

"Yes?"

I opened the door and saw Margaret Bertoli standing in the hallway. "Luisa, I was wondering how you're doing. Tomasso left for his work, and I know it's not comfortable spending all your time in an unfamiliar house, let alone a closed off bedroom."

"Thank you,
Señora
Bertoli. I'm fine," I said, brushing my hair behind my ear and trying to regain my composure. "I was actually about to see what there was to eat around here.”

Margaret smiled and nodded. "That sounds good. Well, Carlo is out late for business, so how about the two of us have a relaxed dinner? Say . . . raid the fridge in t-shirts and shorts? I'm sure there’s a tub of ice cream in the freezer there if you’re interested."

I couldn't help it. The older woman's youthful enthusiasm and relaxed charm washed away the last of my doubts and worries. "That sounds perfect. Let me brush out my hair, and I'll join you."

F
our days later
, the police were pissing me off. Twice, I'd had to stop my rounds as they always seemed to be in the area when I was going for a pickup. "This is getting to be bullshit," I complained to Pietro. "Fucking Fritz is more focused on trying to catch me on some piddly shit than on finding who was responsible for that explosion.”

"That's been turned over to the FBI," he said as we had coffee in a late night diner. "The Seattle police are stuck in neutral, with the federal agencies taking up all their spotlight, so they're left doing what they've always done—chase their own tails and try to get to us."

I shook my head, reaching for the sugar and pouring a long stream of the white crystals into my cup before stirring it. “Either way, it’s still bullshit."

He shrugged and sipped at his black coffee. "I've been dealing with it since before you were born, kid. Actually, it's not as bad as it used to be. The Seattle PD's been trying to get the Bertolis since before your uncle's time. For a while, around the time you were born, there were a couple of real go-getters on the detail. One of them was one of those super-cops who thought that he'd be polishing the commissioner's badge some day. He was a major pain in the ass."

"What happened to him?" I asked curiously. We were in a coffee house owned by my family, and at two in the morning, the customers were few and far between.

"Almost no man is a perfect human being," Pietro said with a chuckle. “He was a tough cop, but he also had a weakness for high school girls. And not seniors, either. More like freshmen. So, when the media just happened to get a video of him propositioning one who looked like she could’ve been underage, he went away. Didn't even need to get our hands dirty at all with that one."

"And since then?" I asked.

"The Bertoli case has been passed around like it’s a bad luck totem," Pietro said. "As long as we keep the street violence down and keep the gangs from growing, they won't make too much noise. It's ironic, because doing those things helps us even more than it helps the cops."

I chuckled and sipped my coffee. "Still, it's getting on my nerves."

“Just keep patient. You have the brains and you have the physical skills, so now, just learn some patience," Pietro said. "Actually, I asked you here tonight to talk about something else, something I didn’t want to discuss inside your father's house."

"What's that?" I asked, setting my cup down. I rubbed at my eyes, feeling the sand behind my eyelids.

"You’ve been neglecting one of your other duties," Pietro said matter-of-factly. "While I know there has been some tension between you and Miss Mendosa, she’s a guest, and she hasn’t been allowed to leave the house for nearly four days. Just today, my son had to come from the office to bring her some fresh clothes to replace what she'd lost in the explosion."

I sighed, trying to come up with the words to tell him how difficult it was for me to spend time with Luisa. Ever since the Space Needle, I couldn't get her off my mind, nor the way she’d flat out rejected me. It wasn’t something I was used to, so it was difficult to deal with. Normally, women threw themselves at me. The worst part was, I still wanted her so badly that I'd dreamed of her twice in those same four days.

In the end, I realized there wasn't anything that had gone through my head that would change the fact that I'd avoided doing my job. "You're right, Pietro. What should I do?"

“Figure out a way to give her some of your time. I'm sure she’d enjoy getting out of the house or something."

Pietro chuckled and finished off his coffee. "Besides, she’s a beautiful young woman. If I didn't know you better, I'd think you didn't like spending time with pretty girls. Too much time in the company of men does nobody any favors. Think about it."

He got up and paid the bill for our coffee, leaving me behind. I did think about it, and I went home, stopping outside Luisa's door. It was three in the morning, and I could hear her sleeping inside. Realizing that there was nothing I could to at the time, I went upstairs to my room, stripping down and setting my alarm. I wanted to be up by ten, and I felt like I could sleep until past noon with no problems. Sighing, I pulled the sheets up over me and rolled to my side, hoping I'd have a dreamless night.

* * *

"
L
uisa
?"

I found her in the television room, watching something I didn't recognize on Netflix, looking antsy. "Luisa?"

"What?" she snapped before pausing the video and taking a deep breath. She was dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a blouse, but other than that, she looked stressed, frazzled. "What can I do for you, Tomasso?"

I came in and sat down. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I realize I've not exactly been the best host."

"I'm fine," she growled, reaching for the remote. "Anything else?"

I sat back and crossed my feet at the ankles, looking over. I realized that Pietro had been right. She was getting frustrated. "You don't seem fine to me. You look like you're going stir-crazy, and you have a pretty decent case of cabin fever to boot. I'm just saying, if you want to get out of the house, then let's do it. My treat."

“Are you asking me on a date?" Luisa said with a chuckle, looking over at me with her face brightening. "How romantic."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "Not a date. Just . . . getting out of the house. There’s got to be something you’d like to do.”

She thought for a second and shrugged. “You tell me. What is there to do in this town?"

I laughed and shook my head. "No clue. I've been out of town for so long and stuck just working since I got back. I took you to the one tourist place I know of. Unless you like baseball? The Mariners always have tickets for sale, and I think they're in town right now."

"No, thank you," Luisa replied. “Not too much into sports unless it’s soccer." She thought, then brightened again. “Why don’t you just take me with you for your pickups? I don’t need to go to some tourist location. I just want to get out of the house."

I blinked, surprised. "Seriously? I don’t know . . .”

Cocking an eyebrow and quirking her mouth, she gave me a sarcastic half-smile. “Why not? What are you doing tonight—making a hit on someone?"

Her sarcastic question let me chuckle, and I shook my head. "No, just picking up payments. I've got four places to go to tonight, maybe more if the cops are off my ass. Tell you what. I’ll see what Pietro says."

Luisa gave me a cryptic smile and nodded. "What time?"

“After dinner? Eight or so.”

"It's a date," Luisa said musically, reaching for the remote.

"It's not a date,” I said, getting up and walking out. "It's work.”

"It's a date!" she yelled back, laughing. It was weird how she could go from bitchy to sweet in about 2.1 seconds.

* * *

I
was sitting
in the casual dining room, looking at my plate of broccoli and chicken I’d prepared when I heard high heels on the tile. "Looks delicious."

I looked up and nearly fell out of my chair seeing Luisa standing there. She looked stunning—I'd never seen a woman look so sexy in such a conservative set of clothing. She skipped the skirt for slacks that seemed to accentuate just how long her legs were, and the jacket was pinched at her waist, hugging her torso. She'd put on a men's style dress shirt and tie instead of a blouse, but the way the silk and cotton bulged out over her breasts made her look even sexier than if she'd worn a plunging neckline. "Holy . . . well, you look dressed for work all right."

My reaction wasn't what she was looking for, and she frowned, crossing her arms under her breasts. I wasn't sure if it was intentional, but it made her already curvy chest stick out even more, to the point that I had to try to keep my attention on her face. "If you’re finished with dinner, I’m ready."

"Just a few minutes," I said, trying to recover my cool. "Pull up a seat. I was just getting my grub on."

"I noticed," Luisa replied. “Don’t worry, I ate earlier."

She sat down in the chair across from me, stretching out her legs. I rushed my way through my dinner, choking down my food just to give myself a reason to not stare at her, and put my dishes in the sink. "Come on, let's go."

Luisa smirked as she got up, and I knew she'd been trying to distract me while I ate. Saving my comments about that for myself, I got in my car and started up the engine. "Just to warn you, I’m carrying today," I said, opening my suit coat to show her my Beretta. "Part of the job."

“Is that supposed to scare me? In fact, can I have one too?" she asked, taunting me. “How about something with some real kick to it?"

I gave her a look. “No.” I started up the engine and left for my first stop, a dry cleaner that had accepted a loan from my father ten years ago, and in return, Dad was a twenty-five percent silent owner in the business. My cash pickup was actually Dad's monthly share of the profits.

"Good evening Mr. Bertoli!" the owner greeted us with a smile as I came in with Luisa. "My, my, you have a partner tonight. And who’s the lovely lady?"

"Luisa Mendosa," Luisa introduced herself, smiling. "It's a pleasure, but I'm not Tomasso's partner. I’m just a guest tonight."

The man nodded and shrugged. Turning, he picked four hangers off the rotating rack and laid them over the counter before getting a totally normal bank deposit bag. "Here you are, Mr. Bertoli. Two suits for you, two for your father, and the deposit for this week. Do you need anything else?"

“That’s all," I said, shaking his offered hand. "I might have some suits to drop off next week though.

"Of course, Mr. Bertoli. It's always a pleasure doing the dry cleaning for your family.

“As always, thanks,” I said, waving. "Take care."

"Until next time, Mr. Bertoli."

In the car, I saw Luisa looking over at me, an amused look on her face. "What?"

"You're a nice guy, that's all," Luisa said with a chuckle. "I thought it was just an act the other day—for my benefit. You act like an asshole often enough that it’s refreshing to see."

I returned her look evenly. “Don’t go saying that too much. You’ll ruin my reputation. But yes, I’m a nice guy,
and
I'm an asshole. Nice guys don’t make good wise-guys.” I sighed. “You might not like the next stop.”

"Why? Is it filled with assholes?"

I chuckled and shrugged. "You could say that. It's the Starlight Club, a strip joint we're part owners of. There should be a decent crowd tonight, so if you want to avoid the offense to your delicate nature, you might want to stay in the car."

Luisa took up my challenge, and her dark eyes glittered as she stared out the front windshield. “I’m not a delicate flower, Tomasso. I thought you’d have picked up on that by now. Drive."

"All right, but I warned you," I said, putting my car in gear and driving out toward the club. I found the parking lot about three-quarters full, but as expected, the reserved parking spot for me was open. Closing my door, I still hit the lock. The Starlight Club was in that sort of neighborhood. "Come on. Watch your ass. Literally."

The interior of the club was dim, and the ghosts of cigarettes long past still hung in the air. I appreciated Seattle's recent ban on smoking, even in strip clubs, but it would still be years before the stench fully worked itself out of the building itself. The bouncer saw me and waved to the bartender. Tonight it was Terry, the manager of the joint. "Mr. Bertoli! It's an honor, sir!"

I never did quite understand why Terry was always overly submissive to any of us who were sent in to collect our money. We never had to worry about Terry. He always had his money on time, and he often threw us freebies on top of it. It was like he was afraid we were going to pop off and start shooting up the place at the drop of a hat. That's not good for business—his or ours. He probably just watched too many gangster movies.

"Thanks, Terry. The place looks busy tonight." I looked around and noted that business seemed to be doing pretty well. The girls all had smiles on their faces, and it wasn't just the normal work smile either, but the smile of a working girl who was making good money.